Whining In Space, or Life Is Pain
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: Beast Wars: Waspinator rails against his fate... in *space*.


**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended._

**Continuity**: Beast Wars/Beast Machines

**Characters**: Waspinator, Chew-Toy of Malicious Fate

**Warnings**: None but overwhelming silliness.

**Author's Note**: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable. Yes, Waspinator has an oddly concise thought pattern. I apologize for nothing.

--

_Why universe __**hate**__ Waspinator_?

It really wasn't quite fair. It wasn't as if he _ever_ did as much as the others. After all, it wasn't _Waspinator_ that tried to usurp Megatron. It wasn't _Waspinator_ that betrayed the Predacons to join with the Maximals. It wasn't _Waspinator_ that pranced about screaming, 'For the Royalty' and burning down primeval forests and carrying on in that general train of toady-ness. _Waspinator_ did nothing, in fact, to warrant this sort of treatment. He certainly didn't deserve the frequent explosions, the crushing, the squishing, the hitting and the thwacking and the—

The hurtling through space courtesy of primitives and a particularly strong palm tree. Really, they were _way_ overreacting.

The bug-bot sighed, the nebula below him going out of sight as he went about for another rotation. It really wasn't all that fair. What kind of horrible karma had he attracted? Surely there had to be a reason such awful things happened _so very consistently_ to _him_!

Perhaps it was his speech patterns. Pronouncing every 's' as a 'z' was bound to get on some vindictive, cosmic being's nerves, he supposed. But, then again, look at the other asinine accents the other participants in the beast wars had possessed. Twangs, brogues, drawls – you named it, someone on one side or the other had it. Why, Terrorsaur had been positively dreadful, with that constant, appalling _sqwark_-ing, morning, noon, and night. Surely he deserved worse than poor Waspinator for that alone?

Though, he was rather melted at the moment, so conceivably it was a sort of justice given. Huh.

Maybe hurtling through the void wasn't so bad. Just him and the cosmos, he imagined, getting to know each other. Ah, yes, it seemed Waspinator's end was just as abysmal as his life had been. Doomed to a fate of floating around in the big black, perpetually, everlastingly, ceaselessly, et cetera, while distant stars and planets unknowingly marked his progress. The lonely sojourn of a misplaced bug, drifting to parts unknown. The solitary adventurer, the listless explorer, Waspinator: roving for all eternity amongst the far-flung worlds.

Well, until he ran out of energy, in any case. Then he was doomed to slowly endure the cruel fate of decay and starvation, with none left to mourn his passing… unless he ran into that crazy ghost-bot again. Though that wasn't much by the way of mourners.

"At least zzpace can't hurt Wazzpinator," He sighed, flicking his wings despondently, little good that they did in the vacuum. It was one positive point, as the universe was mostly emptiness, with little by the way of Instruments of Unending Pain and Suffering to inflict upon the unaligned ex-Predacon. As long as he avoided being hooked in some hulking planetoids gravitational pull, there were few chances that anything would—

_Thunk_! _Thud_! _Whack_!

The wasp wailed piteously as the space flotsam and jetsam collided with him, seemingly with the single-minded intent of beating back the dim ray of optimism. "_Why univerzze hate Wazzpinator_!? What – owie, owie, owie – Wazzpinator do to big, ugly – _ouch_ – zztupid univerzze?" He flailed his stocky limbs madly, railing against his apparently badly cursed fate. The momentum generated by the flailing only served to increase his spin, badly throwing off his trajectory to… whatever it was he had been heading to. Though, of course, in that moment the unfortunate 'bot didn't care much about that kettle of turbo-fishes. "Wazzpinator do nothing, _nothing_, to zzpace! Nothing to zzpace bits! Nothing to _anyone_! But Wazzpinator _always_ going—"

His fist, swung wildly stuck something distressingly solid, pressing a panel inward.

_Click, click, beep_. It was dismally familiar, the jingle and hum of a detonation sequence being activated. So very, _very_ depressingly familiar.

"Oh, no," Gasped the mech, pulling back the offending hand as if to somehow retract the transgression. He moaned out desperately, in an appeal to deities that had done little to help him before, and seemed disinclined to mend their bitter ways. "No! Not again! Wazzpinator doesn't _want_ to go—"

And in some small, insignificant part of the universe, light briefly flared, along with a despairing, wretched cry of unending suffering.

"Whaaaaaauuuuugggghhhhhh!" Shrieked the ill-fated wasp, as disaster again sent him wildly plunging, spinning helplessly and nauseatingly through the impassive nothingness.

Why did the universe _hate_ Waspinator? Was he the reincarnation of some terrible being, guilty of unspeakable acts against all life? Had he unknowingly insulted some distant, higher being with some uncharitable banter? Was he simply doomed from the get-go, as increasing appeared to be the plausible case?

Frag it. Frag it all.

"… Wazzpinator _quits_."


End file.
